


Lost In the In-Between

by Harrukawa



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: A bit of cussing, And he has asthma, Character death (sorta) it’s not shown, Eddie loves his friends, He moves in to Richie’s house in order to get away from his mom, I don’t cuss normally so it’s not very much, M/M, Richie’s the ghost, Slow Burn, in other words: a reddie Ghost AU, just told, so he can go to college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-17 18:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13082274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harrukawa/pseuds/Harrukawa
Summary: "Fine, okay, but I'm not writing it down." Eddie mumbles, his cheeks a lovely pink. "Can ghosts even do that?"“Wanna find out?"“That’s fucking disgusting.”





	Lost In the In-Between

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is @saiion!! Tell me to update on there because i procrastinate way too much

"No way, Bill, I could never do that."

Richie jumps up to sit on the counter, studying Eddie's face as he speaks. It's been a while since Bill has called, Richie wonders if he goes and hangs out with him rather than calling.

Eddie twirls the telephone cord around with his fingers as he listens, a habit, Richie realized last week, he did without thinking.

"Okay, no need to be an asshole, I'd just rather not do it. Do you know how many g—" Eddie stops, Bill had probably interrupted him, and Eddie makes no effort to start again.

Richie takes a glance at the calendar on the wall, absently swinging his legs back and forth. They make no sound as they hit the counter, despite how hard he's swinging them, Richie supposes it'll drive him mad one day.

December 16th, the calendar reads, day #14 since Eddie has moved in.

"Its our two week anniversary, Eds!" He says to Eddie's backside, who is now twisting at the cord in his free hand, still listening to Bill. "I'd say I've loved having you here, but part of me hasn't."

Which might not be entirely truthful.

See, three weeks ago, he'd been minding his own business, reading a book in his own house like normal.

In walks a boy, 20 or so, followed by someone Richie could only assume was his mother, and a small lady that showed them around the house. Richie would learn later, by glancing at the mail, that the boy's name was Eddie Kaspbrak.

Eddie and the small lady looked frightened at every room they walked into, his mother taking lead and going around the house without even flinching.

He had to hand it to her, it was pretty impressive.

Richie followed them as she stormed about, with Eddie and lady following like lost puppies. It was fairly amusing, filling him with something he couldn't put his finger on at the time.

The tour was silent mostly, the only sound was the shuffling of their feet and Eddie's mother's voice asking boring questions to the small lady. How's the heating? How old is it? Blah, blah, blah, boring, boring. The small lady answered these with short, clipped answers, seeming like she wanted to be anywhere but there.

They headed upstairs, Richie falling into step behind Eddie, almost feeling apart of the tour himself.

Eventually, Eddie tapped his mother on the shoulder, once, in which she rolled her eyes. She turned to the lady, finally asking the pressing question, "Is it really haunted?"

Richie grinned, clasping his hands behind his back like a boy asked to recite something for the class. Of course.

He'd known people thought this place was haunted, teenagers used to come in all the time. It was easy, scaring them off, all he had to to was shut off the lights and they'd shake like a leaf and piss their pants. Easy stuff.

A few "brave souls" would venture further, and he'd had a blast trying to come up with new ways to scare them off. Writing stuff in ketchup always worked, but it was a pain cleaning up, so he stuck to pulling rugs out underneath them. He had no idea why he was doing these things, it just felt right. Normal. It was his house after all, and if he couldn't tell them to leave, he might as well have fun with it, right?

One day they stopped coming. Which was okay, he guessed, it _was_ starting to get a little boring. But after they'd left he had just felt so empty, Eddie's weirdo tour group had suddenly refilled that emptiness on a whim. It was more than comforting, he wanted more of it, he assumes that's why he'd allowed them to come in and walk with them.

When the lady hesitated, Eddie stopped in his tracks. Richie, lost in thought, had stupidly walked straight through him. Warmth had surged through his body in waves, leaving his whole body tingling, from his chest to his fingertips. It was frightening, something he'd never felt before.

He didn't have time to think about it, because there was a loud gasping noise, and he'd turned around to see Eddie fumbling for something in his pocket. His mother was sobbing, screaming shrilly and waving her arms around madly, _"Eddie! Eddie-bear, what's wrong? Honey, are you okay?"_

He'd finally grabbed the object he'd been searching for; a plastic cylinder that Richie had never seen before. He shoved it into his mouth, pushed the trigger, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He stayed like that, for a moment, and Richie had begun to think he'd killed himself.

Luckily, though, Eddie's eyes fluttered open, and he hastily shoved the weird toy back into his pocket. He seemed embarrassed by it, giving the other lady an apologetic look, who looked startled as hell.

Eddie's mother tromped over to him, placing her pudgy hands on either side of his face. "Are you okay, honey? Please tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay, mommy." He said, monotone, sounding like he'd said it a million times before. Judging by the look on Eddie's face, he'd been sure he had. His mother nodded, and looked back at the lady.

"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all, "I'm afraid I can't buy this house. The dust is not good for my son's asthma."

The lady had just shaken her head in disbelief, probably still startled from Eddie's freak-out earlier. "Well— O-Okay, I-"

"No!" Eddie had yelled, hushing the girl instantly. His mother glared at him. "I mean— no. I really, really like this place. It's exactly what I want, I'll be fine. Please, mommy."

 _Mommy_. Richie had laughed, _what 18 year old still calls his mom 'mommy'?_ Even _he_ knew that was lame, and he hadn't been out of the house in.. how long?

But then, Eddie looked over to him. Not at him, directly, but staring into his eyes immediately drives him out of his thoughts. He _knows_ Eddie can't see him, and he supposes that's what pulls him back into reality, telling him he'll never have this. He'll never be apart of this.

" _No_." His mother's voice had been authoritative and final, and Richie had thought that would be the last time he'd see the boy. It surprised him that the fact had almost upset him.

But Eddie had shown up at his house with two suitcases the next week, key in hand, and brilliant smile on his face. When the door had swung open that day, Richie had been sitting on one of the dusty couches and reading a book that had been left behind. Reading it like he hadn't already read it countless times before. Life got pretty boring at times.

Eddie had stepped through that door, and immediately got to work. He'd cleaned the downstairs floor all day, dusting the lights and scrubbing the floors. Richie followed him, mostly in awe, at how _dedicated_ the boy was. Strange, really. Richie made sure to stay clear of Eddie's path, as he was worried the odd warmth from the week prior would happen again. He couldn't stop thinking about it no matter how hard he'd tried.

Eddie groaned when he reached the even dustier bedroom, which made Richie almost feel bad for him. _This house is hopeless._ Is what he'd thought, but when Eddie was done, it was spotless, aside from the dusty couches.

And so, life with Eddie had begun.

It was not easy at first, Richie didn't know if he wanted Eddie to leave or stay. He'd thought about scaring him away, but it just felt _wrong_ after Eddie had spent so much time cleaning. Or maybe he just liked having someone there, he began to wonder on the second day why he hadn't gone mad after all these years. Company was great.

Well, mostly. Eddie was fucking annoying. He threw everything Richie held dear to him out, and he was rendered powerless as he did so. He was torn between ripping it from Eddie's hands, which would surely send him screaming, or letting Eddie take his things and keeping his company.

In the end, he'd lost his things.

But it was okay. Eddie brought in new things, much cooler things, in giant boxes that read " _Kitchen_ ," and " _Bedroom_ ," and " _Bathroom_ ," in curly letters. There were objects he'd never seen before in there, which he allowed himself to play with when Eddie went out somewhere. There was a tube thingy, if you plugged it into the wall it blow air out of it. Eddie never used it, so he wasn't quite certain what anybody would use it for. There was a thing in the kitchen that shot dark liquid out of it, which Eddie collected in a cup. Coffee maybe? He drank it every morning, and Richie was almost jealous that he couldnt remember the taste of it. He imagined it would taste like mud smells like.

And of course, the phone, something he easily figured out the purpose of. It connected Eddie to all of his friends, they’d call him all the time. It seemed to have magically appeared one day, maybe while he was sleeping or something.

Eddie had also brought a small box thing. It also plugged into the wall, and pictures would play on it. Eddie left it on, sometimes, but he never seemed interested in it. Richie found the background noise comforting as he walked around the house, and maybe Eddie did too. Helped him feel less lonely, perhaps.

He made sure to place everything back where he'd gotten it, but sometimes he'd forget, and Eddie would pause after coming home, making a face that said, _"did I leave that there?_ " Richie found it funny, and sometimes he'd leave things out on purpose just to see it.

He'd do little things to mess with Eddie, to see how far he could push him without it being too far. He'd taken his house, after all.

Shutting off the lights had always been easy, people loved blaming that on "faulty wiring," or whatever it was. Eddie barely flinched when he did it, something he found amusing, like a game of cat and mouse. Eddie would just sigh and switch the light back on.

Sometimes he'd turn faucets on, at first it was because he didn't know they _did_ that. They'd never worked before, and when Eddie first flicked the handle on, he was fascinated. Of course, that grew old quickly, and Eddie didn't seem all that worried when he switched them on in the same room as him.

He'd turn the shower water cold, turn the box off on the rare occasion Eddie _was_ watching it, and Eddie would never do anything about it.

 _Eddie probably doesn't believe in ghosts_.

The thought occurred to him while reading a new book, one Eddie had probably brought from his old house and left unopened on the spotless table.

Eddie had left to go wherever he went during the day, and Richie had simply picked it up without thinking.

The thought had popped into his head when one the characters in the novel had mentioned the beast being a ghost, to which one stood up and told them they're all babies, ghosts certainly aren't real.

He placed the book back onto the table after reaching chapter 4, growing bored, and glanced around the house.

Eddie seemed like a clean person, but for some reason, he left the moving boxes lying out.

Perhaps Eddie thought he'd be leaving soon, or maybe he was a little homesick.

Richie decided it must be the latter, seeing as he'd occasionally hear sniffles coming from behind Eddie's shut bedroom door.

He wanted to ask him.

But he couldn't.

Eddie came home at 4 p.m, ate dinner at 6:00, took a shower at 9:45, and went to bed at 10 o'clock exactly, the weirdo. It was routine, but almost sad, watching Eddie sit alone at the dinner table in silence.

Richie would lean in the kitchen doorframe, just watching sometimes. He studied, quietly, eventually picking up on some of the boy's habits. Whenever doing anything particularly grueling or difficult, he'd clutch that weird plastic object he had so tightly his knuckles would turn white. He bit his lip when he was concentrated, twirled the cord of the telephone as he talked, recited what he was going to say aloud before making an important phone call, and every day he'd clean the house.

There was only one bedroom in the house, since Eddie had selfishly taken it for himself, Richie slept on the couch. It's not like he needed sleep anyway, it just helped a bit. Sometimes he didn't want to be.. “ _alive_ ” at all, and sleeping helped him escape.

Richie didn't usually touch the upstairs after Eddie moved in. The bedroom was up there, and the bathroom, and he felt weird invading his privacy. But on the rare occasion that he did, it would be to watch Eddie brush his hair.

Even that feels weird, but watching him stand in front of the mirror trying to get it just right was amusing.

He supposes that's when he realized that he'd unintentionally grown fond of the boy. Not in the way you might assume— more like a deep respect for Eddie.

The thought should've come as a surprise to him, but it doesn't. He just hadn't wanted to admit it. After all these years of pushing people away, Eddie had wormed his way into his life. It was somewhat endearing.

So maybe saying he hadn't enjoyed the past 2 weeks is a lie. It didn't matter anyway, Eddie would never know.

Eddie listening to Bill intently now, face screwed up in concentration, exactly the look he'd had on his face when he'd cleaned the house for the first time. Richie laughs.

What he was _not_ expecting was for Eddie to actually turn around at the sound.

Richie's mouth goes dry at the sight. No way.

 _Don't get your hopes up_ , he thinks, _dear_ _god, please don't get your hopes up._

But they are. Eddie's eyes are right on his, staring, with that same concentrated look he'd had while cleaning.

"Can you see me?" Richie's voice is calm, steady, which surprises. He's feeling the exact opposite of calm, he's freaking out. He hadn't realized how starved for attention he is until now, until his breathing picks up when he stares back into Eddie's warm, brown eyes. _Please_.

But Richie slowly realizes there is no recognition, no indication that Eddie knows he's there. Eddie's eyes are glassy, unfocused, the way everyone's eyes are when they 'look' at him.

His heart plummets, how stupid he was for thinking it'd be different. _It's your own fault, Richie. You got your hopes up, Richie._

Eddie blinks, shakes his head, then quickly turns back to the phone. "Bill— On second thought, I'll come. I have to get out of this house." He rubs his temple with his free hand, squeezing his eyes shut as he speaks.

Bill says something, Richie can hear the murmuring on the other side now that it's quiet. Eddie turns red, drops his hand, and yells into the receiver, "I do _not_! Stop believing everything Ben tells you, he's a liar. It's not haunted." Richie hears a laugh on the other end, and a few other voices talking over each other.

Richie hops off the counter before Eddie can reply, and promptly clicks the button on top the telephone. He doesn't know why, but he finds himself smirking. _Payback_ , his brain supplies, _for taking my bedroom._

He hears the line suddenly cut, the dial up tone drones in Eddie's ear. "Bill? Hello?" His face falls, but he waits a second before putting the phone back in it's place, grumbling something Richie doesn't catch.

Richie leaves, plops down on the couch, and only half-pays attention to the box thing. His mind keeps drifting to other things, overanalyzing things that shouldn't be overanalyzed. No reason to get your hopes up.

Eddie comes out of the kitchen a moment later with his keys in hand. He glances around the house, hand on the doorknob, something he did every day, then steps out of the door. It closes with a thud.

"Not even a goodbye?" Richie asks the silence.

It doesn't reply.

He huffs, suddenly bored out of his mind. The box thing is playing a stupid tape about vampires, he'd looked at mostly everything left in the moving boxes, and now Eddie-bear is gone.

Richie snickers at the nickname, but is met with silence. Again.

Eddie is gone all day.

How had he sat in silence for years? It's awful.

He gave up wallowing in self pity the first hour and instead picked up the book from earlier, flipped to chapter 4.

He read, read until he got to chapter ten, until it's got dark outside. Then he wandered around the house for a while, though that got boring fast.

 _I miss Eddie_. He finds himself thinking, as he stands with his arms crossed in front of the door. The lock suddenly clicks, as if it had heard his thoughts, and the door swings open, revealing Eddie with several brown bags in his hands. He's looking down, trying to steady them all as he steps inside, but before he can attempt to close the door, he looks up.

Richie is still standing there, Eddie's eyes on his, and it's almost like Eddie can—

"Oh my God." The bags crash onto the floor as Eddie whispers. Food spills everywhere, but he doesn't seem to notice.

_Holy sh—_

"You.. see me?" Richie barely notices he's talking, his voice not even a whisper. _Of course he can't see you, dimwit._

He supposes it couldn't hurt to ask, though, then he'd realize Eddie was looking at something behind him and they could move along. No need getting your hopes up.

But Eddie's terrified eyes are far from glassy, and are full of indication that screams, _"Yes, I'm very aware you are there."_ If his heart were working he assumes it'd be beating out of his chest.

_No way._

"Oh my God." Eddie repeats, "Oh my god, oh my god," his eyes never leave Richie's, and he doesn't move, almost as if he's glued to the spot.

Richie feels the same.

"You can hear me?" He says in his breathy whisper again, and he feels tears begin to sting his eyes.

Eddie doesn't say anything, but his face twists in horror, and it turns a ghastly pale.

"No way," Richie's voice cracks, and warm tears spill over his eyes, down his cheeks. It's the second time he's ever felt so _warm_. When was the last time he'd cried? He can't recall, probably long, long ago, but he supposes he has a good reason.

But the next thing he knows Eddie is screaming, high pitched and strident, and he's running— scrambling to get away, almost tripping in the process.

He's out of the house before Richie can react, slamming the door with such force he can't help but take it personally. Then again, maybe seeing a dead person in your halls is a tad scary.

Eddie doesn't come back that night.

He considers leaving the house, but the thought frightens him, and he quickly scratches it.

First, he picks up the groceries Eddie dropped, and puts them in the cupboards and box thing— a fridge, he recalls, something he'd seen on the other box thing in the living room.

He doesn't cry, although he is filled with grief, an emotion he can't remember the last time he felt. Never in his years of being here had anyone seen him, and when someone finally _did_ , he'd messed it up.

Richie stays waiting for hours, but Eddie doesn't return.

•

Things go back to how they used to for the next couple of days. Richie, alone.

He's lost all interest in the house, the books, the new objects. He just wants to speak to someone, to _anyone_ , and feel that connection again.

Eddie's stuff is left, so he guesses he has to come back _sometime_. So he waits. And it pays off.

Eddie comes back on the third day. It's late, past midnight, and if it had been any other day Richie may have been sleeping. But on that particular night, something inside him kept him awake.

He's in the kitchen when it happens, flipping through an old cookbook, when the door slowly swings open. Richie perks up at the sound, mostly in disbelief, frozen in his chair.

Then Eddie, looking just as frightened as before, steps through. He's carrying a bat of all things, looking around frantically.

Richie almost breaks down crying at the sight.

_Oh my god he's here._

He gets up from the chair, mind racing as he scrambles to think of something to say to him, somewhat won't scare him off, something—

"Howdy," Richie's dumbass mouth says instead, and he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. _That's okay, I guess. Play it cool._

Eddie wheels around, eyes fiery and frightened. He grip on the bat tightens, eyes darting up and down Richie's body in disbelief.

Richie gestures to the bat with a wave of his hand. "What's that for? Think I was gonna eat your brains or something?"

Eddie falters, only for a second, but he catches it.

"Did you _seriously_ think I was going to eat your brains?" He snorts, Eddie seems to visibly tense.

"No." He pauses, taking a step backwards. There's a pause, and his next words are quiet, but curious. "Are you?"

A smile makes a way into his face before he realizes it, he looks down, shaking his head. "No, no, of course not. I'm a ghost, not a zombie."

There's a sharp intake of breath, and Richie looks up to see all color drain from Eddie's face.

"Ohh God.." he whispers, mostly to himself. There's a high whistle in his voice, and his chest is heaving. "You're a ghost?" He runs a hand through his hair nervously, lowering the bat all the way now. It clutters to the floor loudly, and Eddie is fumbling for his pocket again. He pulls out the plastic object after a moment, bringing to his lips with one swift movement and triggers it. Richie just stands there during the process, unsure of what to do.

"What's that?" He asks, when Eddie pulls it out of his mouth. He doesn't look all that stable, but the object seems to have helped him a little bit. He clutches it tightly, holding it close to his chest. He looks surprised that Richie is still standing there.

"What? This is.. my aspirator. I've got asthma." Eddie blinks, then shakes his head incredulously. "I'm talking to a dead person." He puts it in his mouth and presses the top again, the aspirator makes a loud whoosh sound. Richie supposes it gives him extra air, maybe he'd know better if he knew what the hell asthma is.

"I prefer the term 'spirit,' but sure, I guess." Richie says, the smile returning to his face. He can't really help it, being unable to talk for so long was horrendously lonely.

Eddie mumbles something that sounds a lot "nuance," but it's so quiet Richie can't be too sure.

Richie pushes himself off of the doorframe and takes a small step towards him. "Listen, Eddie—"

"How do you know my name?" Eddie's voice is unsteady, and he's clutching the aspirator with both hands now.

"You've been living in my house for 2 weeks now and you don't think I know your name? That would be awful etiquette on my part." Richie laughs, loving every second of this. Whatever it was.

"You've been here the whole time?" He asks, bewildered.

"Relax, I don't watch you undress or anything. Like I said, that would be awful etiquette. I even sleep on the couch." It's meant to be a joke, to ease Eddie's discomfort, but it only seems to put worse thoughts in his head. He tries a different tactic. "Look, I'm not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, actually, I haven't talked to anyone in.. _decades_."

Eddie rips his eyes away from Richie, now looking at the floor. He takes a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders subsiding as he does so. "Okay— Shit, okay. There's a ghost in my house. You.. this can't be real.." he laughs, nervously, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.

"I'm real, babe. I'm sure you knew it was haunted when you moved in, right?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't believe it," Eddie quickly looks up from the ground to stare into Richie's eyes, bright and flickering with something strange. "Prove it."

"Hm?"

"Prove to me.. that you're a ghost. Stick your hand through the wall or something. Ghosts do that, right?"

"I can't do that," he taps a knuckle against the wall for emphasis, although no sound is made. "I can interact with objects, easy, but they can't interact with me. Does that make sense?"

"Not really."

"Well—" Richie starts, but Eddie suddenly crouches, snatching the bat from the ground, and hurls it at him. He doesn't have time to react, and it goes right through him. He whirls around, watching as the bat hits the wall with a bang. "Hey! You dented the wall!" He yells, turning back to Eddie with his fists curled.

But Eddie is putting the aspirator in his mouth again, taking one look at it makes all of his anger subside. Eddie wipes the sweat from his forehead after taking it out of his mouth. "Okay, _Okay_.. you're really a ghost, then."

Richie feels a twinge of guilt in his stomach. "You okay, Eds?"

"Yeah, I'm.." He trails off, pausing to let his breathing get under control. "Perfectly fine." He finally mumbles, sounding anything but perfectly fine. He takes one deep breath, and asks, "If you've been here the whole time, then.. how have I not seen you until now?"

"I.. don't know. Nobody's ever been able to see me. It's new for me, too." He pushes up his glasses nervously, trying not to think about the dent in the wall.

"Oh," is all Eddie says, thoughtfully. He glances around the house, not as frantically, just taking it in, Richie supposes. He eventually sighs, turning back to Richie with a calmness he seemed to have gathered way too quickly. "I knew it was haunted, _everyone_ knows, I just ignored what they were saying. The only.. the only reason I'm living here is because it was the cheapest place that's close to my school. If I— if I lose it, I'll have to live with my mom again." There's a pause, and Eddie quickly adds, "I can't go back to living with my mom."

"Then don't," Richie says. Eddie looks at him like he'd just killed someone in front of him.

"What?"

"C'mon, I can't be _that_ bad. There's no need to act like we can't live in the same house, we can.. share! I don't mind sharing. We've been doing that already."

"Yeah, but I didn't know about it. It'll be a lot different." Eddie shakes his head, almost looking embarrassed to be talking about this.

"Different in what way?"

"You're.." Eddie pauses, same concentrated expression taking over his features. "A ghost. You don't find that weird?"

"Maybe a little, but.." He takes another step forward, gleefully surprised Eddie doesn't try to get further away from him. "Like I said, I'm not here to hurt you or anything."

"Okay, _Casper_." His voice is light, which would've been cute if Richie had a clue what he was talking about.

"My name's Richie."

"No, no, I was—" Eddie shakes his head. "Never mind."

There's an awkward silence after that, both boys staring in disbelief at one another. Richie, because Eddie hadn't run away after all of this, and Eddie, because, well... probably because he's talking to a ghost.

"So we're cool?" Richie finally asks, putting his hands on his hips. "It'll be the same as always, except now you can see me. Which, I assume for you, will be far better. Just look at me." He gestures to his face dramatically, half-assing a Voice he's not all that committed to. He's sure the smile on him looks goofy, but Eddie is smiling, albeit nervously, and that's enough.

"I can't believe what I'm saying, but.. sure." There's a panicked edge to his voice, but his eyes are full of unasked questions. "This is so weird." Is all he says.

"Yeah." Richie admits, letting out a sigh. Who knew this could be so hard?

"Well, um. I'll introduce myself, then." He's fidgeting with his hands, having already shoved the aspirator in his pocket when Richie hadn't been looking. "I'm Eddie. 18, 19 next month. And I guess.. you probably already know how boring I am. I don't really do anything around here, huh?"

 _Or anyone_. Richie grins, resisting the urge to make that joke. "Richie. Lost count, and I'm more than enough exciting for the both of us." Which was anything but truthful. Eddie was the most exciting thing to happen to him since.. since.. well, he can't remember.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

There's more awkward silence.

"Well, I'm going to bed." Eddie says suddenly.

Richie inwardly sighs, part of him not really wanting this conversation to end. "You trust me that much? I could kill you, you know." 

"Im tired." He says, and with that, he's starting up the stairs, yawning.

That was a bit weird, wasn't  it?

Richie shakes the thought out of his head, plopping down onto the couch with a sigh.

He doesn't sleep that night, kept awake by his own thoughts. Yeah, it _was_ weird, that Eddie accepted him so easily. He'd been stuck in this house for years, and when teenagers came by they were absolutely terrified of the sheer thought of a ghost. Sometimes he didn't even have to do anything to scare them off, why didn't Eddie..?

Why was he even worried about this? If Eddie accepted him, then why did this make him feel so uneasy? Something about it seemed off. Maybe Eddie was just really friendly.

Eventually, Richie gives up and picks up the book on the table again. He can barely focus on the words on the page, though.

He reads until the sun rises, barely getting through 3 chapters when a voice yells, loud and annoyingly, "Fuck!"

"Well good morning to you, too, darling." He says, mostly without thinking, the scream had somewhat frightened him.

He turns, and Eddie's there, in his pajamas and with his hair sticking up in every direction. He must've just woken up, but his expression is far from sleepy, staring at Richie with terror in his eyes. "Oh— I.."

"Thought last night was a dream?" Richie turns back to his book, already knowing the answer. He couldn't really blame him, Eddie being able to see him is _bizarre_ , and will probably take a while getting used to.

Eddie ignores that, starting up the stairs again. Richie turns back to his book, but it quickly interrupted _again_ by Eddie's, luckily much clearer, voice. "Maybe we should lay down some ground rules.

"How so?" Richie asks, without glancing up from the pages.

"You know, like, a list of some sort." Eddie says, Richie mentally takes a note of where he stopped and carefully places the book back on the table. He obviously wasn't going to get any more reading done.

When he glances up, he finally notices that Eddie is fully dressed now, with his hair combed neatly. His hands are on his hips, an irritated expression on his face. Richie guesses Eddie wanted him to agree or something, but he really had no clue what good a list of rules would do. "Alrighty?"

"Excellent. We can—" He doesn't have time finish that sentence, because the phone rings. Eddie quickly rushes into the kitchen to pick it up, almost as if he was worried Richie would try to.

It stops ringing abruptly, and soon enough Eddie is mumbling something to the person on the other line.

Richie strides into the kitchen a moment later, telling himself it was only because he was feeling left out. In truth, part of him was worried Eddie would try and leave again, but he knew he'd be powerless if that were to happen. Eddie swallows as he walks in, clutching the phone tight against his ear. He drops the telephone cord he'd been messing with, glancing up to make eye contact.

Maybe this would be a little different.

Eddie averts his eyes, and continues his conversation. "Oh, yes, I'm still here."

The person on the other line is rambling something, quickly, Eddie adopts the concentrated expression almost instantly. He nods along to the words, although the other person can't see him. Richie stifles a giggle.

Eddie's smiling now, the person on the other line had grown silent. Richie assumes the person must be Stanley or Bill, they seem the only two from his friend group that have phones. Or maybe they all do, and Stanley and Bill are the only ones who make calls, since Eddie never does. "Yes! Yes, I'd really lo—" he cuts himself off, looking up to make eye contact with Richie. He suddenly feels out of place, and for the first time since Eddie could see him, feels regret because of it.

Eddie speaks into the phone without breaking eye contact. "Um. Could you hold on for a second?" He pulls the phone away from his cheek, and covers the receiver with his hand. "My friends.. want to come over tomorrow," he speaks cautiously, "Is that okay?"

"Why're you askin' me, Eds? It's not like I can stop you." Richie fidgets with his fingers absentmindedly, not wanting to make Eddie feel restricted because of him.

"Well, I don't really know. It would be rude not to ask you." He pauses, gathering the right words to say. "We're.. roommates, right?" He seems uncomfortable, like he's trying to convince himself of it, too.

"I guess.. so?"

And that's that. Eddie turns back to the phone, tells his friends to come over, and now he and Richie are at the kitchen table, face to face. There's a sheet in front of them, blank, although they've been siting here for at least 10 minutes.

"Rule number one," Richie breaks the silence, picking up the pencil that lay between them. He pulls the paper towards him, tapping the eraser on his chin in thought. "No masterba—"

"Okay, that's enough." Eddie rips the sheet from him, and holds out his hand for the pencil. "Please be serious, here."

"I am being serious!" Richie protests, stubbornly keeping hold of it. "That should be a real rule, y'know, I don't want to wake up to you moaning." He shivers at the thought, Eddie scoffs in response.

"Fine, okay, but I'm not writing it down." Eddie mumbles, his cheeks a lovely light pink. "Can ghosts even do that?"

"Wanna find out?" He asks, and to his satisfaction, the pink on Eddie's cheeks grow even darker.

"That’s fucking disgusting," He says, with a shake of his head. He gives up trying to take the pencil, and Richie slides the paper back over to himself. He's glad Eddie doesn't try and touch him, although part of him wants to feel the warmth again.

"Rule number two," Richie starts, Eddie glaring at him to make sure it's serious. "Number one is my only rule."

Eddie rolls his eyes, snatching the paper back. This time, Richie rolls the pencil over to him, too. " _Actual_ rule number one," He begins to write, the same curly handwriting that had been on the moving boxes. Richie smiles, Eddie continues. "Don't touch my stuff."

"Hey! None of this stuff is mine, you threw out everything I used to own." Richie crosses his arms, partly joking, but partly serious. Fear begins to creep up on him at the thought of having to leave to get possessions, having to leave the house. His house.

"Rule number two," Eddie ignores Richie, beginning to write on the second line. "Don't mess with my friends when they come over."

"Define 'mess with.'"

Eddie goes to the third line now, not listening at all. "And rule number three, I get the bedroom."

"We've already established that, Eds."

"Rule number four. Don't call me Eds." Eddie quickly scribbles down, as if not writing it doesn't prohibit it.

"What happens if we break the rules, Eds?" Richie leans in with a smirk, crossing his arms defiantly. Something flickers in Eddie's eyes, and suddenly he's leaning in too, mouth twisted into a devilish grin.

"I won't hesitate to kill you."

And god, Richie knows he's joking, but _holy shit_. Eddie's voice is low and—

Richie snatches the paper from across the table, quickly trying to change the subject. "If you get to write bullshit rules, then I get to write them too." He scribbles down ' _rule number five'_ in slanted letters, almost embarrassing next to Eddie's neat ones. _'No touching, no asking about pasts, no forcing me out of the hou—'_ Eddie pulls the the paper back with two hands, Richie does nothing to stop him. Maybe he went a little too far.

Eddie reads over rule number 5 quietly, then nods to himself. "Is that all?" He asks bluntly, and when Richie slowly nods, he gets up from his chair. He searches for something in one of the kitchen drawers, eventually pulling out a blue tack from it. He wordlessly pins up the paper to the corkboard next to the cupboards, and glances at Richie for his approval. "As long as we agree to follow these rules, I think we can get along."

Richie gets up now, joining Eddie in front of the board. They're not directly next to each other, still trying to keep distance, but Richie can still feel the warmth radiating off of him. It's heavenly, the feeling, comforting. He begins to wonder why he even put 'no touching,' when it feels so good just being near him. "You got it."

He stares blankly at the piece of paper with both of their handwriting, and is filled with something so strong he's taken aback. His heart swells, and he nods.

Yes, this is good.

He turns to Eddie to say something, he doesn't know, probably something dumb, but pauses when he sees his state. He's shivering, curling into himself, with goosebumps all over his arms. Richie quickly steps away from him, already knowing the cause of it. "Sorry," He mumbles, already missing the warmth.

"You're fine." After a moment he asks, "Wanna watch a movie?"

Richie laughs, unintentionally, but something about the way he says it is so ordinary he can't help it. He can feel Eddie's gaze burning into the side of his face, but Richie keeps his firmly on the rule paper. "You're oddly cool with all of this." He's quickly reminded of his conversation with Eddie yesterday, when he was trying to convince Eddie that he shouldn't be scared. Now he wasn't too sure. This all seemed too fast.

Eddie turns back to the paper, too, sighing as he does so. He doesn't hesitate to respond, "Yeah, I don't know. Like I said, if I were scared, I'd have to go back to living with my mom." He laughs at the thought, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I don't know," he repeats, "it just doesn't seem real." _'I guess I'm just pretending it isn't,'_ goes unsaid, but the implication is there. "Plus, you didn't kill me last night. What better reason to trust you?"

Richie doesn't know what to say to that. He'd thought Eddie had been homesick, but that doesn't seem to make much sense now. "Why do you keep the moving boxes out, then?" He inquires, unable to keep his mouth shut.

Eddie jumps at the words, like he hadn't realized Richie had noticed that. _I did_ , he thinks, suddenly worried he had noticed a little too much about Eddie. If he hadn't, then Richie wouldn't be standing here right now, growing attached to someone who still wasn't sure if they were scared of him or not. What's wrong with that, though? What's wrong with wanting to be around the only person that's been able to make you _feel_ for the first time in..however long?

Well, there's plenty wrong with it. Richie had never been attached to anyone, obviously, much less someone like Eddie. Eddie must be a little frightened of him, not as much as everyone else, but they had only just met and Richie knew lots of things about him. Richie was still an enigma to Eddie, surely that must be a little frightening. What if he ran away again? _That_ was truly frightening.

"Maybe I miss her a little bit." Eddie says with a laugh, seemingly admitting it for the first time. "But I mean, who doesn't miss their parents when they first move out? That's not weird, right?" He turns to Richie again, and he meets his gaze this time. Richie shrugs, thankful to be pulled from his thoughts this time.

"I wouldn't know. I'm a ghost, remember?" Richie grins, snickering.

Something flickers in Eddie's eyes. "Right."

Richie stops laughing immediately.

"What's a movie?"

•

Turns out movies are the pictures that play on the box thing, which is actually called a television.

Richie's delighted to know what they're actually called, but Eddie wouldn't shut up about it.

"How old _are_ you?" He'd asked, which was probably rhetorical, because if it hadn't been, it would've been breaking rule #5. "You're the weirdest person I've ever met," was another one, and, "TV was invented in, like, 1920 or something." And, out of that sentence, Richie only understood about 3 words. 

Richie's sitting cross-legged on the couch, now, Eddie had told him to wait there while he was doing something in the kitchen. There are a bunch of beeping sounds coming from there, which only peaks his curiosity.

The box thi— the ' _television_ ' is on, too, but no movies are playing on it. Yet.

Eddie finally comes back into the living room with a bowl in one hand, and a blanket in the other. He shuts off the lights and plops down onto the couch, a fair distance away from Richie, but he can still feel his warmth. "Can you even eat food?" Eddie asks, placing the bowl between them, a bastion separating the two. It's full of fluffy yellow pieces, and in a way they resemble flowers with the brown thing in the middle. Or maybe spiders. When was the last time he saw healthy flowers? The ones that used to be outside were dead and shriveled up.

"I dunno." He replies, not really wanting to find out. They don't look all that appetizing.

"Try one." Eddie says, popping one into his own mouth. He gets off the couch again, fumbling around in the drawer below the television. "What do you want to watch?"

Richie takes one gingerly, turning it over in his fingers as he analyzes it. It's sorta soft, but that doesn't make it any more appealing.

"Don't tell me you've never seen popcorn before." Richie looks up from his fingers, unaware Eddie had been watching him. His hands are still in the drawer, but he's turned to Richie, laughing.

"I've never seen popcorn before." Richie says, "It looks nasty."

"You haven't even tried it." Eddie turns back to the drawer with a giggle.

Reluctantly, he puts the piece in his mouth. It's bland, doesn't taste like anything. "It _is_ nasty."  
He decides he doesn't like eating that much.

"More for me, then." Eddie finally pulls a rectangle box with a bunch of people on the cover. They're holding onto a rock or something. "Have you seen The Goonies?"

"No." Eddie does something with the rectangle box at the words, and quickly slides it in to _another_ box above the television.

"You're so weird," Eddie sits back down onto the sofa as he speaks, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. He takes a handful of the popcorn into his palm and pops one in his mouth. "Everyone has seen this."

Maybe Eddie _was_ just friendly. Richie hadn't done anything but act weird around him and he still wanted to watch a movie with him.

The pictures start, and they're both silent for a while.

Richie's not really paying attention, every time Eddie reaches for another handful of popcorn, he can feel it again. The warmth radiating off of his hand as he goes back and forth is maddening, Richie just wants to reach out and touch— no. He didn't want that.

Hadn't the warmth frightened him before? Somehow it had been morphed into a strange curiosity.

The movie drones on in the silence, and if Richie were paying attention he may have enjoyed it. Something inside him is itching to talk, so break the silence, but Eddie seems focused on the film. He begins to fidget unintentionally.

"Is this okay?" Richie candidly blurts, asking a question that had been pressing into him for a while.

Eddie's turned to him now, dark eyes illuminated by the screen. "The movie?"

"No, dummy. _This_." He gestures vaguely to everything, hoping Eddie could somehow understand. "All of this. I don't.." _I've never talked to anyone before and I don't know if I'm doing it wrong, plus you're, like, super cool with me and it's just making me nervous because what if I do something wrong—?_

"You're confusing me," Eddie mutters softly, almost like he was afraid to say it.

Richie considers this for a moment, completely at a loss for words all of the sudden. Eddie's right, what was he on about? If Eddie was cool with it.. that's all that should matter. No need to make everything such a big deal.

"I know. I'm confusing myself, too." He runs a hand through his curls with a sigh, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Suddenly Eddie feels way too close. "I don't understand any of this." When the words are uttered, he lets his hand plop down onto his crisscrossed legs.

Then there's a flash of heat in his arm, Richie instinctively jolts, immediately looking down at whatever had happened.

Eddie's pale fingers are gently wrapped around his wrist.

" _What the fuck_?" Richie yells without thinking, looking up at Eddie in shock. He's frozen, too, but when Richie looks up, he draws his hand away like he'd been burned.

"I'm sorry I wasn't thinking at all—" Eddie rambles, rubbing the fingers that had just touched Richie's wrist.

Richie looks down at his wrist in disbelief, the place where Eddie had touched it still tingles. His head snaps up at the thought. "Give me your hand."

"What? Why?"

"Just— Please?"

Eddie begrudgingly puts his goosebump-ridden arm forward, palm upwards, only shaking slightly now.

Which is weird, because Richie is trembling as he puts his own hand forward. A gasp escapes him when their fingers brush against each other, because _I'm not going through him._

"What the fuck?" He asks again, but it barely comes out a whisper.

 _Holy shit_ , seems to be the only coherent thought in his head, Eddie's hand is warm and pleasant but it's also—

 _Scary_ , almost. What happened that allowed Eddie to be able to see and touch him?

He doesn't know, but it surprises him to know that he doesn't care. It's the most content he's ever felt, finally feeling the warmth of another person, and having them be able to see him.

Richie rips his hand away, suddenly flustered. _What am I thinking?_

"Don't tell me you couldn't do that before." Eddie's panicked voice rings through the air, the high whistle in his voice returning as his breathing begins to pick up.

So Richie doesn't answer his question. "I—I.." he stutters instead, which only seems to make Eddie's breathing worse, and he's throwing the blanket off of him and quickly fumbling for the asper— whatchamacallit in his pocket.

But it's not there. Eddie's eyes widen as he as he searches his pockets again, and by now he's heaving, the whistle seemingly getting worse as time goes on. Richie doesn't know what to do, because Eddie's clutching his throat now, and he's pretty sure that is not a good thing. It's frightening, more frightening then whatever he was thinking about before. Richie is quickly filled with guilt.

"..kitchen..!" Eddie sputters out, just barely.

Richie jumps up from his position on the couch without much thought, and quickly dashes into the kitchen, mind racing. He frantically glances around for that stupid _thing_ , whatever it is, and spots the plastic object just below the microwave. Before he knows it, it's in his hand, the surface digging into his palm as he tries to get back to Eddie.

He jumps over the couch, almost tripping, flipping the— aspirator, he suddenly remembers— over and crams it into Eddie's mouth. Eddie's eyes are squeezed shut, and his hand is twitching, his face sheet white. Richie clicks the top of the aspirator at the sight, then twice for good measure, and suddenly Eddie's eyes are fluttering open. His hand shoots up to come in contact with Richie's, wrapping it around his own to trigger the aspirator one more time. Richie jumps at the touch, but barely notices the warmth surging through him, focused on one thing only.

They stay like that for a moment or two, both catching their breath as the fear inside them dissipates, when Richie is sure Eddie is going to be okay.

Richie lets out a huge sigh of relief when Eddie's hand drops, and he quickly pulls the aspirator from his mouth.

"God, that was the scariest thing I have ever experienced." Richie laughs, a tad hysterically, but luckily Eddie doesn’t seem to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god they were roommates...
> 
> This was originally going to be just a oneshot but I gave up lol  
> Sorry for the abrupt ending, I’ve got a bunch more ideas for this but I’m not all that happy with my writing at all  
> I’ll continue Maybe now! Sorry for the delay


End file.
